First Blood
by Lichtherz
Summary: This is a short fanfiction of when Scotland and France had a trip to acre as Templars. Actually, this is more focused on Fran's feelings. He might appear a little cold hearted, but I think that Fran is only easy going to cover up. Fran is often depicted being alone in the original series.
1. Chapter 1

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical?

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll just name him this way… for personal reasons. Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

The sun shone warm but mercilessly onto the sea that reflected the bright blue of the sky above it. Three ships sailed towards east, until they'd reach their destiny. On board were a few crusaders, merchants, food and other goods that were needed in the land they were sailing to.  
Among them were two nations that were told to observe the Crusade in the middle east, in Outremer, as it was called. The nations were still children, barely teenagers. Yet, in the early medieval times they were counted as almost adults, or at least old enough to take a job and to execute it.

Francis Bonnefoy was standing on the railing near the front. One of the sails was casting a shade now over him – which was why he was standing there basically. He had a moment on his own and thought about how his life had changed now that he was married. Soon after the wedding his body had grown into the form of a 14 year old. Such height spurts happened rarely, but were common among nations. They grew far slower on the outside than on the inside.  
Francis however found it a bit unnerving at times to be married with Scotland. The tall redhead was commanding and demanding him everywhere. He had no minute of his own, unlike before the marriage had started. He was not used to it and he simply couldn't handle it. Now he hoped to get more time on his own now that they were getting a job. It had to be impossible that Francis was chained to the other on every mission they were told to!

As Crusaders they had to wear white fluttery capes and white clothes with red crosses on them with chainmail beneath. Additionally helmets were available.  
For Alasdair it was hell, so most of the time he was just remaining in the belly of the ship which had a similar effect to an ice-cold cellar. He knew that as soon as he got out, heat would smack him down like a large angry fist. He kept thinking about Francis, his wife, all the time. Was he alright? Not too hot? Why was he on the deck and out of his reach all the time? Did he not love him anymore? He didn't dare to speak it out yet.  
He waited for the landing in Acre, in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

"Land ahoooy!", was the call everyone had been waiting for weeks ever since they had started in Marseille, a southern city of France, popular for its harbour.  
It took then one more hour until the ships slid into the harbour of Acre.

"Wee prince! Hauld yer horses up fur me!", Alasdair shouted and tried to come after the other who was already carrying his duffel bag and headed for the landing stage.  
France just huffed and turned with tired eyes. How long was he supposed to wait for his husband? Did he have to wait at all? It was nowhere written what his duties on being married were actually. Wasn't it enough that he had offered his butt to the other for the sake of his people? Did he actually have to live with the other Alliance partner in order to have this Alliance? As he recalled, Norway was also part of this Alliance and he had never been there.

Alasdair caught up with the younger nation and they entered the city. Eyes followed them everywhere. Crusaders were like superstars in those times. Even when you'd touch them inappropriately, you were literally dead by law.

Seagulls shrieked, there was the sound of the nearby marketplace, the preacher standing before a very large church also close to the harbour was telling his stories. Just about everywhere came noise that was trademark for this city.  
The little group of crusaders made their way to the house of their order. Actually, France and Scotland would have been to separate, because their orders were different, but Scotland insisted on staying with France, much to the southern kingdoms dismay. Yet again, their outfit was not so much different and since they had an alliance, their orders were also good friends with each other. No one of their commanders disagreed. There were also Teutonic knights and Spanish crusaders represented, but their houses were in other districts of the city.

Alasdair huffed as he set his bag onto the box on one side of the room. "Shall we gang see aroond th' toon? ah bet we cuid fin' something tae gallus doon. Jimmy, i'm druthy …"  
Francis didn't reply. Instead he just flopped onto the bed and yawned.  
"…Urr ye jeeked? th' air oan th' sea is different. …i wull wait fur ye then.", the redhead smiled confused and sat on the bed.  
"No need to wait for me. I'll be fine.", Francis murmured, actually waiting for the other to disappear. He was not used to have someone around all the time anyway. He found it exhausting with Scotland from time to time. And then again, the redhead would always ride back to Britannia to check for his brothers. "Why did you come with me here anyway? You won't be able to see your siblings."  
"…", the redhead gave him a weird look. "A'm merrit wi' ye. Ah wid be an ill guidman if ah wid juist let ye aff intae this streenge steid oan yer ain. Forby, ah an' a' git th' order tae dae some wirk 'ere."

"You… don't need to have me sticking to your skirting's.", Francis turned over, yawned and stretched out.  
"Whit urr ye talking aboot? ah don't mynd whin you're sticking tae me. …or mah skirting's."  
"You're not my nurse nor my big brother."  
"Bit yer guidman."  
"And what is a 'guidman' supposed to do? Tell me what to do, what not to do, like washing myself behind the ears, doing always my work. Écosse, I am a nation just like you and if I remember the litany correctly, we are /not/ married. We are 2 of 3 Alliance members in this … this matter.", Francis explained a little rough now. He knew that he had hurt the other… which was why he got up now and left the room.

The Frenchman calmly walked over the streets of Acre, thinking about how angry the other might be. Or that the other might be not angry but very sad. But it was the truth. What was the use of following a dream, an illusion? Especially… this relationship would never work. They were both male and gayness was very frowned upon. In fact, stones could be thrown at them and there was nothing that they could do about it. The kings that had formed this alliance were still alive. Heck, what had they been thinking? Did his king not known that he, France, was no girl?

At times like these, Francis just wanted to cut his hair and show the world that he was a boy. Besides… sooner or later, Alasdair would leave him anyhow. His siblings were more important. Their wellbeing went over everything. Didn't the redhead spend their wedding with watching over his brothers? Didn't he go back home on their first day? There would never be any love or any feelings at all.  
There were more things the blonde would have mentioned in his thoughts if not something had caught his attention. There was a corpse lying on the street. And the other people were running away, making a face that said 'I don't want to be here'. Soon a large puddle of blood spread out underneath the body and dead eyes looked up to the sky. Well not sky, their gaze was still frozen at the view of his murderer.

If Francis had paid more attention earlier, he would not have come so close at the death scene. It was not the first act of violence he had seen. Despite it was the first dead person he had seen, it left him cold. He didn't feel anything. It was kind of weird. He had expected to feel upset, like the other people.  
In his mind worked the thought that he had to do at least /something/. Maybe… he should try out what Scotland had taught him? Swordplay?  
"Has someone seen the murderer of this man?", he asked loudly.  
The people rushed away faster, completely ignoring the young man.

But a hissing noise came from a side corner and a faint laughing.  
"C-come here… come here…darling."  
Francis obeyed hesitantly. The person in question was either drunk or nuts. …Or both. "Have you seen the murderer? I dare you to waste my time…"  
"I have seen… but it comes with a price."  
"…?", Francis tilted his head.  
"I want to touch your bum… just for a little bit."  
The blonde growled. There was no way he'd let this ugly and greasy stranger touch him like that. It was enough that Alasdair did that all the time no one saw them. "First the information."  
"Do you think I'm stu-upid? You let me touch first…"  
Francis unsheathed his sword and held it at the guy's throat. "First…the information. Please."

The drunken beggar told everything. The person in question had been a merchant with two sword bearers. This would be rather difficult… further told the beggar that in Acre there were several districts that belonged to either Venetian or to Genoese merchants, the rest was split up between the several orders of the Templars: French, Scottish, Teutonian, Spanish and also English. And something in between.  
"…and now… my reward.", the guy was leeching and drooling, in his eyes only lust.  
"I hope god is good with you. Because your payment will be…eternal life.", Francis grinned and pierced his sword further into the man's neck. There was actually no heavy bleeding. The sword was sharp. However, the man groaned and tried to catch some air or to say something, the windpipe was cut quickly.  
When Francis withdrew the sword, blood splattered out of the wound and out of the man's mouth, like a fountain. The young blonde soon jumped away and flung his sword once more at the guy, hoping that he'd die soon. It was a long and apparently painful death. The French boy felt weird about it and wiped the blood from his sword. He calmed himself by saying that it had been a peasant and no pleasure for anyone to be with him. Besides… there was no way that he could give him the 'other payment'. "…I'm married.", he whispered, finding it even more strange to have his marriage as an excuse after he had claimed that it was 'just an alliance', not a marriage.

For now he let the case of the dead man on the street (not the peasant) rest, thinking things through. Why was he like that? Were Alliances really marriages? Who would say that? Besides, the Alliance that they shared was one with three participants. Why did Norway never show up or try to be involved more?  
And now… actually, when Scotland wasn't involved with his siblings he tried… or claimed to try to be the best husband ever, trying to read every wish from the eyes of… - but damn! France was male! This would never work out right, the blonde thought.

"France! Thare yer!", a familiar voice cried out and the sound of quick feet came closer.  
"God, ah wis sae worried fur ye. Thare wur deid men lying aroond and… fur god's sake, is that blood?"  
"…Écosse?", was the redhead not angry with him? He had said so mean words.  
"Francis, Ye can't just… ah mean, a'm responsible fur ye. Ah hae tae keek efter ye. Whither wur merrit or nae."  
"Why?"  
"Fu… Fur a loue ye. Eejit!", the redhead punched the other playfully, not adding any force to his fist. "Ah mean it. … Ah juist wished that ye wid share this feeling."  
"…Can you really base a marriage on a feeling? Feelings are like the wind. And who knows if you'd still like me… in a 100 years.", as a nation you could calculate with such long periods of time.  
"Of course you can base marriage on it. And I had feelings for you before our kings said that we would form an alliance."  
"Feelings…", Francis blushed in embarrassment and looked away. He felt terribly lost. Damn, if there was such a thing he didn't want to lose the redhead either.

After Francis had entered his life as a nation on the court of King Clovis, he had gained friends that appeared to be in his age. But soon they grew older and didn't want to play or talk to him anymore. It happened so often, so often would Francis' heart break. And not only that. Also the world around him changed constantly, while he stayed the same and stood back behind this ever changing world… He always ended up being alone.  
The visits of other nations were quite rare. He had come to visit Anglo-Saxony more often, who became England in the end… and all he earned was mean words. He had taught little England how to write and read. And then some day he received a letter in which with every possible word was expressed how much the English boy hated him.

"Do you want an apple?", Francis asked, as the two nations wandered over the marketplace in Acre.  
"Ach… Aye. It's still very hot here.", the redhead said while trying to pick one he liked. The blonde in the meantime tried to make out the price. The currency here was slightly different, yet the merchant didn't mind and took some coins anyhow, regardless what was on them.  
The French boy now felt a little like he was in some kind of air less room. He couldn't make out the noise surrounding him or even what Alasdair told him. This feeling had followed him ever since he had killed the peasant, just now it got intensive. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Finally, he tried to snap out of it. He felt his forehead… no fever.  
"Let's go down to the harbour. I don't know if they watch over the whole damn coast, but I want to take a swim! It has to be possible."  
"Guid idea.", Alasdair smiled, almost having finished his apple.  
"And after that we go back to our house and have dinner and then bedtime.. or just relaxing. Really, this … you were saying it's hot, but now I think it's getting to me too."  
"Aye, Ye seem stressed ever sin we cam 'ere. Urr ye pure braw?"  
"Mhm. …I have said a lot of mean things to you… I'm sorry about that. But I have these doubts not with no reason… People these days are against gays. And due to this Alliance and whatnot, we are somewhat bound to this. …You don't seem to be affected as much because I don't look very manly. But as for me…? It's really strange. And I don't want us to end up being stoned. It's like trying to swim against the stream. You might be strong, but… you're not getting anywhere."  
"Ah ken whit ye mean."

They reached the harbour. There were signs saying that a little down the harbour was a beach for people that liked swimming. In the western world, swimming and bathing was highly frowned upon by the Christians as it was sin to expose too much skin. It could result in lust. But here, things were different. And as long as they had a bit of clothes on, no one was bothered. Also, people loved to just collect clamps and maybe fish from the beach – something that could be eaten for dinner.

"Bit mah feelin`s fur yer stronger. We cuid juist keep it doon oan th' official side 'n' juist shaw that we are… guid mukkers. Or brothers…. Okay, cousins mibbie. We don't keek alike muckle, eh?", Alasdair laughed a bit.  
"This sounds like a plan."  
"Nou…", the redhead softly said, halting beside the other as they reached the sandy beach.  
"…Now?", Francis looked up at the other.  
"Ur mah feelin`s one-sided?"

"Don't think o' whit ithers micht say. Keek intae yer hert."

The only reason why Scotland forgave him, even after such crucial words, was because he was used to being treated like this. Being the eldest of his brothers, he had always taken care of the younger ones. And the Kirkland children had always been rather 'wild' you could say. Not really careful with words, really a handful. Just when things became real, when it all was a whole lot more serious, then they would be honest and someone you could count on. Also, Francis was still very young. And also did Scotland know that even though Francis had a lot of half-siblings like Spain or the Italy-Twins, the small blonde was rather alone in his country. There were other Duchies like Bretagne, Bourgogne, Aquitaine and Occitan surrounding France, but the Nations there were not interested in interaction with the young Kingdom.

"…I still think that I get used to it. …There are certain things that… my feelings address. For example, there's the benefit that when one of us becomes sick, the other can help out. That's an unspeakable value. And then… you're … your hair. You're a redhead but not a ginger like most 'redheads'. It seems like you're like a jewel among them. And I like rare and precious things… even though you'll never find me wearing any jewellery. …Ah, it's bad that I cannot wear the ring now. The wedding ring is too small for my hand now after I grew.  
And one more significant thing why 'marriage' with you is a positive thing is… you can swim.", for a while, Francis had played with the idea that England might be annoying because England loved him but hated him for having married his elder brother. And the French boy had wondered that if he ever had the choice between the two, who would be the better choice. England could not swim, whereas Francis truly loved to swim. Only hunger could pull him out of the water.  
"The truth is that I… can master anything as long as I put myself hard enough into it. I could love you so much that I would let myself get killed for your sake… if I just dig myself deep enough into this red velvet feeling.", Francis said.

"Everything is still at the beginning. If there's time and effort, anything could be done….How many wives these days are forced into marriage and still learn how to love, how to be wives."  
"It's funny that ye gang oan th' guidwife side…", Alasdair chuckled, being glad to feel a fresh wind in his hair.  
"Hey, I doubt that I could be the husband. The 'man' in the relationship is often taller and stronger. And you're that by default. I, on the other hand, am more skilled with refined things. I can cook, I can sew, I can do just about any household things. And I get the impression that I won't ever be stronger and taller than you.", The blonde had the hope that the other would never leave him. He was older… then maybe more settled. "Tell me… did you have Alliances before? Even with your brothers… and then, how old are you exactly? You must have experienced a lot long before I ever visited you."  
"Ah…", Alasdair blushed. "Ah didn't hae alliances before… bit.. Some.. Affairs. …i hae tae admit that ah tried winchin' wi' some girls earlier. .. Bit thay didn't taste as guid as ye dae! 'n' mah age… i'd ower nae blether aboot that."

They undressed both down to their undergarments, something like loincloths, and went to have a bath in the sea.

"I killed a man.", Francis said when they were resting on a rock that stood amidst of the breakers.  
"Ye /what/? did /ye/ murdurr that jimmy oan th' wynd!?", the redhead stared at the younger nation with surprise and some kind of fear.  
"N-not this man…I saw him lying on the street too. I wondered who had killed him. Then a voice from a smaller street called out to me.", Francis told the older one the story what had happened. "…and so I killed that one, so he couldn't touch my ass. I didn't follow the original killer still. I have forgotten the description too. I hope that it's not a serial killer."  
"…Ye did that fur ye wur merrit?"  
"You're the only one who is allowed to touch me like this. And on places like these.", Francis blushed and looked at the older one. The sun was soon setting, turning everything on the beach into a fiery light. Alasdair's hair looked dead gorgeous right now that it took Francis' breath away. "…I can't say yet that I love you so dearly, but I trust you. I do that for a long time. Didn't I sleep next to you… the night we first met? When we exchanged the words of our languages? Do you remember that night?"  
"…Ah dae.", Alasdair whispered, having that small smile on his face that said that one of his wishes had been fulfilled by now.

He remembered that this was not the first time he had met Francis. He had seen the Frenchman as a Baby Nation, before the little one even had been able to speak. A very early king of Britannia had conquered Rome and gained Franciae back to the not so Roman world. It had been the redhead's task to watch over the small blonde. Back then, Ireland and Wales had also been quite young – Baby Nations, barely able to speak.  
Back then he would have never believed to get married to the small bundle in his arms. But this small bundle had caught his heart right away.

"Ah mind that nicht."  
"See, and because I trusted you back then I slept next to you without being scared. Though you looked scary. I mean… you were that much older looking. Actually not much different from today. You look like a 16 year old human… and I was like 5 or something back then. and now almost triple."  
"Ah ken, ah don't age that muckle anymair. … bit howfur dae ah keek scary? dae ah aye keek scary tae ye?"  
"Well, you people of the Highlands have some reputation…I also think this was why my king asked your king if we could go togetherking….", Francis huffed. " 'The fierce Highlander Scott is a weapon. He can butcher about anything without needing a lot of care. He bathes in ice water and only needs one Haggis per week'. That was the advertisement my king got."  
"That's true. Bit we need haggis ilka third day, if yi'll waant tae keep us pure tough 'n' healthy. 'n' an' a' we need a bawherr bit o' sex 'n' bagpipe songs tae keep oor morality at peak."  
"…Sex and bagpipes at the same time?"  
"…If wur in th' mood."  
The two of them fell into laughter. 


	2. Chapter 2

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical?

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll just name him this way… for personal reasons. Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

When Alasdair and Francis came back to their house in acre, it was nearly dusk. The house was a square shaped one with many rooms, a main hall for meetings but also dinnertime, and an inner court where they could practise fighting.  
After dinner the Grandmaster of the order then came with a quest to the two nations. Right next morning they were to ride to Antioch to contact the Doge there. A letter was given to them too which they were to deliver.

Once Alasdair had managed to wake up a grumpy French boy, they got ready for the ride, picked their horses and then the mission could start.  
"Why do you always have to wake me with a water bucket?"  
"This is th' foremaist time ah used that… improved technique. It worked braw, dinnae it? 'n' ah helped ye saving yer mornin' cludgie."  
The blonde just gave the other an irritated look.

By noon, the sun shone mercilessly upon the small travelling group. With the two Nations a few merchants and other Templars had decided to make the journey to Antioch.  
The chainmail wasn't making the ride any easier. It was practically wearing an oven in a desert.  
"Écosse, this is murder… shouldn't we take the chainmail off?"  
"Nae… a'm feart nae. A'm dying juist a maiter o you…maybe even mair. Bit whin we ur attacked suddenly, there's na time tae pat it back oan."  
"Why don't we ride closer to the sea?"  
"…richt."

A short discussion with the rest of the group followed and everyone agreed to ride closer to the Mediterranean sea. The merchants feared that there would be bandits, but with so many Templars, the fear was with no reason. They expected to be protected.

Around the early evening hours, when the travelling group had reached the colder regions closer to the sea where everything became greener and easier for the horses to walk, bandits also showed up as if they had just been waiting for them.  
One of the Templars got injured by an arrow that had been shot at random. The merchants instinctively took cover behind some rocks.  
"Keep edgy, Fran…!", Alasdair drew his claymore sword. Soon, the group was surrounded by leeching bandits. They were laughing at the rich prey they had found.  
The other Templars and France also drew their swords while the bandits were still busy trying to get a good grip at the victims by surrounding them most efficiently.

Another arrow flew by and almost hit Francis. A red line trickled down from his cheek. It burnt a little and Francis tried to ignore the stingy feeling.  
"France!", Alasdair was shocked. He rode straight to the line of bandits and swung his large sword, killing two of the bandits with one strike. Unfortunately, at that point, the bandits had already formed a trap and it was like a hand that was closing around the Scotsman.  
"…that idiot!", Francis saw what had happened. There were still a lot of bandits around… saving Scotland would be risky.  
On the other hand, losing the other seemed painful to the young Frenchman – and so he forced his horse forward and attacked the bandits that were attacking the redhead.

The bandits were pretty skilful. They had to be, because their surviving depended on their skills. A day without prey often meant weeks of hunger.  
France didn't have that much experience, however losing would mean to him also a lot. Not weeks of hunger but ages of heartbreak and self-accusations. It was hard to keep a cool head, but he remembered how Alasdair had taught him to try to stay level headed even in the heat of battle. The blonde would have never thought that he would get emotional in such a battle.  
Suddenly, the redhead came in view again. The man had killed a few of the bandit's horses and more of the bandits themselves. And as some of the horses ran around in confusion with foam before their mouths and noses, others followed them even though their riders wanted to go a different direction.

"France!", Alba tried to force his way back to the rest of the Templars so they could form a steady group and defend themselves properly. He had just recognised his wife trying to fight a way through.  
The blonde saw that Alba was hurt. Francis also thought that if not a miracle happened, they would lose to the bandits. They were fairly outnumbered after all.  
Then suddenly, a light appeared on the sky and explosive sounds shook the air.  
One of the bandits said something and the group disappeared…

"It was gunpowder…", one of the merchants explained as they came from behind the rocks. "The Chinese have invented this strange kind of powder. …It's not a spice. When you put it on fire, it explodes. That means it goes… like that.", the man held his hands together and moved them outwards in a quick motion.  
"It's fairly new… weapons can be made with it. I don't know if the bandits knew it. It scared them off.", another merchant said. "Let's go get away from here before they notice that nothing really happened."

Quickly rode the group across the plains. The moon that just went up on the desert side seemed to appear in a red light and unnaturally big to the European eyes. It casted the whole scenery into a crimson light. The men tried to avoid talking like on every corner someone could hear them. Though alone the trotting sound of their horses' hooves made a sound that could not be ignored and got thrown out into the plains around them. Sound got around pretty well in these places, where there was no bush, no tree – basically nothing to keep the sound off.  
"…Does it hurt a lot? Are you losing blood?", Francis was very concerned about the Scotsman's condition. Why had it hurt so much to see the other suffering? Was that what love meant? Being afraid to lose the other one?  
"A'm fine… it juist burns a bawherr due tae th' sweat. Howfur aboot yer cheek?"  
"I'd be fine if no scar is left behind."  
"We'll hae a keek at that wance we kin mak' a stoap somewhere.", Alasdair promised.

Their stop came pretty late. But at least they had found Antioch. Back then there were no navigation systems or even signs that said 'Antioch, this way'. People had to take persons with them that knew the route.  
However, now that they are were save and sheltered, they made a stop in an Inn before actually minding their business and going their ways.  
Scotland and France dressed their wounds. Luckily there was also a doctor in that Inn who had learnt his job back in the great city of Isfahan, where the best doctors in Middle East were found. Not to mention that those would be the best doctors compared to the European ones for another few centuries.  
This time, neither of them would keep a scar from this fight.

"Ye wur bonny brave comin' tae mah help, wee prince."  
"…I… I just didn't want to lose you. …You were an idiot for just riding at them! You could have been … seriously injured. Not killed, I know, but hurt very bad! I just can't…I couldn't stand losing you.", Francis was very upset. And he felt rather insecure in sharing his emotions like that. He couldn't help it.  
"Shhh… It's a'richt. Ye won't lose me. 'n' ah won't let ye gang.", Alasdair pulled the other onto his lap and into his embrace. "Whin we git merrit, we promised that it wid be forever."  
"I know… but also promises can be broken…a lot. I still couldn't take losing you…either to another person or to death. Or that you were hurt. If this is how love is… … then I love you. More than I had expected myself. I know that it is often rather bad to be attached to a person… because you always have the anxiety of losing that person…"

"Ye hae tae halt thinking that wey. Whither yi'll waant it or nae, ye can't gang thro' th' world bein' unattached. Ye aye become attached tae this or that body. Hawp me, ah hae seen mair lik' that."  
That's right…Scotland was so much older, he was bound to have made experiences like these himself, Francis thought.  
"That's how come a'm especially happy tae be merrit wi' ye lik' that nou. Ah hae th' feeling that we cuid bade th'gither fur a langer time. Am'fair peched o' huvin mah hert wandering wi' na shelter."  
"Shelter?", Francis blushed.  
"Aye, ye wid be th' shelter tae mah hert. 'n' a'm waantin' tae be a shelter fur yers."  
The French boy seemed very content with this. And his feelings towards the older Nation blossomed from this time on. Never again did he not trust the other. It was sometimes like they had grown into a single person.


End file.
